


dog park in the sky

by Eloarei



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sumo counts as a major character, and learning how to grieve, the unfortunate concepts of aging and mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloarei/pseuds/Eloarei
Summary: Nothing lasts forever, and that's especially true of organic beings. But this is the first time Connor's ever seen it-- the slow creeping of death as it inches forward and gently envelopes its target, so unlike the suddenness of a gunshot, and somehow all the more traumatic for its meandering pace.It's hard enough when he first realizes it's happened; but then he wonders: how is he going to tell Hank?





	dog park in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I had like 3 other DBH WIPs going, but then we had a quiet and predictable little family emergency. As they say, write what you know. Therefore, uh: based on a true story. ^^;;  
Also, predictably: god this got way long for a simple one-shot. Ain't that just the way. 
> 
> Warning for Sad Things, in case you missed those tags.

It wasn’t as if their relationship started off perfectly; obviously it didn’t. But it wasn’t long before Connor and Hank were getting along more than just fine, and in the past several years Connor would say that their communication was closing in on ideal. Rarely was there anything important that one would keep from the other (unless of course it was a harmless secret, a birthday present or something, a surprise). They didn’t always fully enunciate their feelings to one another (Hank was still sometimes reticent about his affection, and Connor had his shy moments), but important things were made clear to each other in one way or another.  
  
This was important, and he didn’t want it to be a surprise (because, was there a word for a terrible surprise? A word that was to surprise what nightmare was to dream?), but there was simply… no good way for Connor to break the news to Hank.  
  
He thought it would have been a lot easier if it was a normal day, if they’d gone to work together and then come home together and been there to face it at the same time. But Hank was on loan to a department in Grand Rapids for a few days, helping them with a case that had spanned counties. Normally, Connor would have gone with him. They were partners, after all, and they really did do their best work together. But…  
  
The problem was Sumo. He was getting old. It had been a long process, the dog already well into his adult years when Connor first met him. He was one of the few things Hank had really cared about and taken care of even before Connor came into their lives, so he was as healthy as one could expect. But despite Connor’s best efforts to make sure his diet and exercise routine were kept up, there was no reversing the passage of time and the gentle havoc it wrought on organic bodies. They’d taken him to various veterinarians, multiple times, but there was only so much they could do for his slowly degrading systems. He wasn’t even really _ sick, _ so much as he was just… dying of old age. Connor knew that wasn’t really an accurate description, knew that Sumo was quietly suffering from multiple organ failures that medicine and surgery would have had very little chance of correcting, but he understood that humans preferred not to dwell on those specifics, and he found that he agreed. ‘Old age’ seemed a much nicer explanation.  
  
There was no way of knowing for sure, but Hank said he could tell it was Sumo’s last days. Whether those days were numbered at two or twenty or maybe even fifty, nobody could really tell, but Hank was certain he wouldn’t last out the year.  
  
“Probably not even the month,” he admitted, the night before the drive upstate. “He’s just… getting old. Happens to the best of us.” He shook his head and gripped his whiskey glass full of water, swirling it around so the little ice cubes would clink in an old comforting way.  
  
Connor hated this. Mostly he hated that Hank was in such pain over the prospect of his best friend fading into nothing, but he also hated having to experience it himself. He was no stranger to death, not since his first days. He saw it when it sat longform in abandoned apartments, weeks of stench clouding it, and he saw it when it rushed in like a riptide. But until now, he’d never seen it creeping in, lingering. It was so much worse.  
  
“I’ll stay here,” he said, glancing at where Sumo laid in his spot by the heater. “I can catch up on some paperwork from home and keep an eye on him at the same time.”  
  
Hank seemed unsure, but at the same time it was clear that he was relieved. He couldn’t just avoid doing his job because his dog _ might _ die some time in the next few weeks (or _ might _ live forever, which would ironically be the case if they were waiting on him; ‘a watched pot’ and all that), but he didn’t want to leave Sumo to a dog-sitter for several days, when they may not know just how to feed him, or have the strength to pick him up and bring him inside when he inevitably got too tired to come in on his own. But Connor did, and Connor could. And from the look on his face, Hank was more than grateful that Connor was offering.  
  
“You sure?” he asked, but it was just a token protest and they both knew it.  
  
By now Connor had become proficient in the human art of understatement, so he just gave a little shrug. “It’ll be fine, Hank. I’ll watch after him while you’re gone. You know you can trust me.”  
  
Now he sort of wished he hadn’t said that.  
  
Sleep was not strictly necessary to androids, so Connor opted to keep his system checks to a minimum while Hank was gone. That way he could do exactly as he’d promised: paperwork, and keeping an eye on Sumo. There wasn’t much to dog-sitting, as Sumo was mostly sleeping these days. Connor had thought about trying to engage the dog in some play to keep his spirits up, but he relented when it became obvious that Sumo was mostly just interested in napping. He still accepted pets and some light grooming, but he wasn’t anywhere near as cuddly as he’d been even just a few months before. As much as he felt like there should be something he could do, Connor accepted that the best course of action was primarily to leave him alone. Therefore, he focused largely on filing paperwork and reading, and glanced over every couple of minutes to check Sumo’s steadily-slowing breathing and heart-rate.  
  
He wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but it was some time between 5:14pm and 5:21pm on the second day of Hank’s absence. When he looked over, Connor’s sensors picked up no signs of life or movement on the other side of the house. For a moment he thought it was a malfunction, so used to there always being at least one steady heartbeat in the house, the very faint sound of air rushing in and out of at least one set of lungs. He blinked; he recalibrated his sensors. And then he realized what it was: death had snuck up on him, like a thief in the night. It had come and carried Sumo away so silently that even _ he _ couldn’t hear.  
  
Connor’s breathing stopped, all his simulated processes grinding to a sudden halt as he stared across the room. There was utter silence. Haltingly, he stood and approached the dog, his processes kicking back in, his sensors scanning restlessly. Sumo was still warm, roughly the same temperature he’d been for a week. Connor knelt down slowly and smoothed a hand over Sumo’s fur. Still soft. He knew it would be, but somehow it came as a surprise, like death should have whisked away all traces of what what made Sumo so loveable in life. His panting and drooling were gone, the light in his big droopy eyes, the wag of his tail-- yet still he was so soft and warm.  
  
He tore his eyes from Sumo’s body and looked around the room. What was he looking for? He didn’t know. There was nothing in the quiet house that told him what to do next, no assignment spelled out for him.  
  
The only idea that came to mind, filtering slowly in like there was a block in his processors somewhere, was that he ought to tell Hank. Of course. He had to tell Hank. Sumo was _ his _ dog, no matter how much Connor loved him too. Hank had entrusted Sumo to Connor’s care, and regardless of it being considered a failure or just a fact of life, he needed to be told what had happened.  
  
Connor wasn’t afraid that Hank would be mad at him, no more than he knew the man would be upset in a way he couldn’t avoid. But he didn’t want to break this to him. Was there not… some other way?  
  
Burying pets in one’s back yard wasn’t legal in the city-limits of Detroit, but Connor already knew that Hank ‘wouldn’t give one single fuck’. And for all that it was a law and Connor was a lawman, he knew better than to argue with Hank on this, even if he _ didn’t _ agree. Sumo would be laid carefully to rest in the back yard and given a small marker of some sort, ordinance be damned. He was a big dog, so they’d have to dig a deep hole. That was not a problem. Connor could go out and do it right then, and have the whole process done in under an hour, even without Hank’s help.  
  
But he couldn’t decide if he should. Sumo was now a dead body, and dead bodies were to be disposed of in an appropriate and respectful manner. They weren’t to be left sitting around. And he _ shouldn’t _ be left for Hank to stumble upon when he came home, without any fore-warning.  
  
Sumo should be buried.  
  
Hank should be notified.  
  
Connor couldn’t bring himself to do either of those things. He thought about Hank, working hard up in Grand Rapids, trying to get a lock on a murderer that had fled the city. Then he thought of calling Hank right now, telling him that his beloved dog had died. What would that accomplish? Would that make Hank stop what he was doing and drive home to him? There was no reason for such an action. But if he didn’t do that, then what? Would Hank continue working, distracted by what he knew waited for him when he was done? What if the distraction caused him to be careless on the job? Connor wasn’t there to watch out for him.  
  
What if the pain was too much? Connor often thought that Sumo was Hank’s only reason for living, back when they’d first met. What if Hank felt there was no longer enough reason to continue on? What might he do if Connor wasn’t there to wrest the drink or gun from his hand? Despite all the turmoil of emotion that came with deviance, Connor was certain that Hank cared about him-- enough that his presence should soothe the sting of Sumo’s sudden absence, but--  
  
He decided not to call. And he decided not to bury Sumo, not yet. Not without Hank. He only barely understood the emotions surrounding death, the traditions of a funeral, but he knew that Hank would want to see this done, not just hear that it had happened. He would need the closure. So Connor wrapped Sumo in a blanket, just as if it were a cold night and he were sleeping peacefully.  
  
And then he waited.  
  
It would have been hard, if he were a human. It was hard anyway. His mind kept drifting off, thinking about Hank as he tried to work, remembering times they’d taken Sumo to the park. He used to love to get attention from kids. So many people had never seen such a big, loveable dog. Sometimes people had been afraid, but all it took was a tail wag for them to see that he wouldn’t hurt a fly-- so long as that fly wasn’t threatening his owner.  
  
Hank was going to be devastated, and Connor didn’t know how he was going to handle that.  
  
A day passed, and despite his eternally accurate internal clock, Connor felt it took a week. Hank was set to come back within the next day or so, having set a limit to how long he’d let the GRPD yank him around. Connor didn’t want to be caught off guard, so he sent Hank a simple text: ‘Please let me know when you’re on the way home.’  
  
He got a response within the hour: ‘Will do.’ Connor considered texting him back, but he wasn’t sure what he would say. So many things sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to be translated to SMS, but instead of sorting through the mess of his thoughts he said nothing, and waited for Hank’s second text to come.  
  
‘Heading back,’ came the text, thirty-eight hours after Sumo passed. It would take Hank at least an hour to get back, but if there was anything Connor wanted less right now it was to be caught off guard, so he went and let himself out into the front yard, and sat down on the porch step. It was a cool, quiet morning, and even though Sumo was no longer around to appreciate weather or a peaceful atmosphere, Connor was glad the day had ended up being nice, as if in respect for their dearly departed friend.  
  
The car finally pulled up, several hours later, after the morning had begun to turn to day and the human lives around him had started to move again. Awkwardly, Connor stood. Hank parked the car with no more haste than ever, and his gait was normal when he moved around it to approach Connor, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder, but he slowed when he got a closer look at the android’s posture.  
  
“Hi, Hank,” Connor said, and he wasn’t sure if his face was trying to smile, or trying not to.  
  
Hank just sighed and nodded, giving a small rueful smile of his own. Connor hadn’t said a word about what waited inside, but it seemed like he already knew. Maybe Connor still needed work at not being suspicious; or maybe Hank could just tell when Connor was keeping something from him now.  
  
“You alright?” Hank asked, coming closer so he could wrap Connor in a loose one-armed hug.  
  
Connor’s brow wrinkled. “I’m fine,” he said, not sure why Hank would be worried about _ him _ when it was Hank, Sumo’s owner, who should be more likely to be overcome with grief. “But Sumo…”  
  
“He didn’t make it, huh?” Hank pulled back far enough to look into Connor’s eyes for the answer. His hand came up to Connor’s neck and rubbed it in a soft, calming sort of way. “I kinda figured it was time.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Hank…” Connor said, closing his eyes. “I understand you would have preferred to be there instead.”  
  
Hank shook his head. “Not instead of you. I think he would’ve liked us to both be there. But hey, I’m really glad you were there for him, instead of just some dog-sitter who didn’t know him.” He pulled Connor into a tighter hug and sighed deeply. “Sorry I left you to deal with that all on your own.”  
  
He wasn’t quite sure why, but Connor could feel his own shoulders growing stiff under Hank’s arms. He was… mad, he thought. Guilty. So… _ sorry. _ “I didn’t even notice for four minutes. I should have… been petting him. What if he was ...scared?”

A very soft huff escaped from Hank, a little tiny puff of laughter that ruffled Connor’s hair. “He wasn’t scared, Connor, I’m sure. He was probably just sleepy. Y’know. I bet you anything he felt safe, ‘cuz he knew you were watching over the house for him.”  
  
Connor heard Hank’s words, and he knew they made sense, but he couldn’t help thinking of that time in Stratford Tower, when he died in Hank’s arms. Even as a machine he’d been scared, some entirely illogical sense of self-preservation causing a sudden desperation to live. The only thing that helped was knowing that Hank was there, hearing his voice as he faded out.  
  
“I let him die alone,” Connor muttered.  
  
Hank pulled back to stare at him, hands gripping his shoulders. "No, Connor, geez. Look. It’s…” He shook his head, searching Connor’s face and finding the right unspoken answers there. “Dying of old age, it isn’t like being shot. I know we see a lot of gruesome deaths, but this isn’t like that. This is… It’s just natural. Sumo wouldn’t’ve been scared. I guarantee it.”  
  
There was no way for Hank to know what Sumo felt, but Connor knew better than to argue it. After all, Hank had seen more death than he had; more murder, and more gentle fading. He recalled when Hank told him about his mother, watching her die at the hospice after a long battle with several terminal illnesses. (He’d scanned Hank obsessively for a month after that, paranoid that one of them might come for him.) Despite his lingering certainty that there was something more he could have done, he nodded.  
  
They stood there for another few moments, Hank softly leaning back into him for a gentle embrace, but then he patted Connor’s shoulder and readjusted his duffel bag to head inside.  
  
“Wait,” Connor said, grabbing Hank’s sleeve. He didn’t want Hank shocked by the sight of his dog still laying on the floor. “I didn’t bury him.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Hank said with a nod, like he’d been expecting it. “I can handle it.”  
  
“I’ll help.”  
  
There was no reason to argue that, and nothing else to say on the matter, so they went back into the house, where Hank dropped his bag in the walkway and walked slowly over to the large figure shrouded in a blanket in the corner. He knelt down and rubbed a hand over Sumo’s brow, caressing it as if the dog could still feel the comforting gesture. Connor couldn’t say for sure exactly why Hank would do such a thing, but at the same time he felt he _ did _ understand, somewhere deep inside. He had the same irrational urge.  
  
After a few minutes, Hank gave another deep sigh and stood up. “I’ll go start digging. Can you bring him out for me? I think he’s just a little too heavy for me to manage without breaking my back.”  
  
“Of course,” Connor said, waiting for Hank to head to the back yard before he knelt down in the spot he’d been a moment before. He gazed down at Sumo again. It was one of the last times he’d be able to, and even though his memory was flawless and he had years of footage of the big lumbering dog to review at any time, he felt this was an important moment.  
  
He gave Hank a few minutes to get a head start, having sensed in the beat of his heart that he might appreciate a little time to himself. He’d cried in front of Connor before, but more often than not he still liked to be on his own when sadness and grief came to call. Connor preferred to keep him from feeling those things at all, if he could, but Hank had assured him that sometimes it was necessary to let those feelings flow-- that it was cathartic to think about the death of his loved ones even if it meant he was going to feel screwed up all day, because it meant that they were still with him, in whatever small way.  
  
Though he knew he couldn’t hurt Sumo anymore, Connor carefully carried him to the back yard, letting the door close audibly so Hank would have enough time to compose himself. He was a little bit surprised to find the man relatively dry-eyed, and not much more red in the face than the exertion of digging a large hole should cause. He looked up when Connor approached and thanked him. When Connor set Sumo down in a patch of grass and offered to take over with the shovel, Hank accepted, and they spent the next half hour trading off, even though Connor didn’t need to take breaks.   
  
“It’s fine,” Hank said as he took the shovel back. “I wanna do this.”  
  
Eventually the hole was dug, and Sumo laid gently down into it. They stood around and stared down at him for a few minutes, neither entirely willing to continue. After a few deep breaths, Hank decided to speak.  
  
“We had a good run, boy,” he said, his voice deep but soft, and more steady than Connor had anticipated. “You were good with Cole when you were a puppy, and you kept me on track all those years after. I’m sure I wasn’t the best dad to you, but you cut me a lot of slack. You whined just enough, barked probably less than you deserved to, and usually didn’t try to kiss me with squirrel mouth. Honestly, I don’t think I could have asked for a better dog.”  
  
He glanced over to Connor, and it took him a few long moments to realize Hank wanted him to speak too-- or was giving him the opportunity to, at least. He cast his gaze down, unseeing as he thought about what words might come.  
  
“You were the first dog I ever met,” he said after a short while. “I knew I liked dogs, but I didn’t know I loved them until you sat on my lap and I almost couldn’t move. You were… a good boy. ...The goodest boy,” he added, winning a short laugh from Hank. “Thank you for watching over your owner when I wasn’t there. And for not eating me when I broke in. Things could have ended a lot differently.”  
  
He took a deep breath and looked over to Hank again, passing the metaphorical microphone back to him. Hank nodded, shifted his grip on the shovel and said, “I’ll miss you, boy,” before he began to tip dirt back into the hole.  
  
Connor watched as Sumo was slowly covered in dark, damp earth, and he said nothing, standing statue still until Hank patted the dirt down smooth over the slight mound.  
  
“Off to the giant dog-park in the sky,” Hank said wistfully, scrubbing a hand over his face even though he didn’t seem to be crying.  
  
Connor cocked his head at him. “Do you think there is one?” he asked. He didn’t know if Hank was just being silly or if his idea of heaven really did include a section for the souls of man’s best friend.  
  
“I dunno. Maybe,” Hank said with a shrug and half a smile.  
  
“I hope so,” Connor said, as he came to the conclusion that it was a good idea. "I think he would like to see you again." 

Hank puffed air at him. "You say that like it's somewhere I'll be going." 

It was just his usual self-deprecation, and didn't hold the same darkness it might on colder, more inebriated nights. Connor didn't fight him on it. Hank's worthiness to go to heaven, to be loved, to have nice things-- it was something they'd inevitably speak on again someday. But not this moment. Connor diffused instead. 

"_I _would go to the dog park," he said, smile gentle. 

"Hah, of course you would," Hank said with a huff of laughter. 

Not for the first time Connor wondered if there was a heaven for androids; if it was the same one humans got; if becoming deviant generated a soul; but he didn't voice his questions, and they ended their little funeral with a moment of silence. When the moment passed they took themselves inside where Connor set about unpacking Hank's things for him while he rummaged for a mason jar to use as a grave marker. Sumo's collar and leash went in, along with one of his smaller toys. 

"I think I have some AKC papers from when I bought him," Hank murmured as he looked through a file. When he found them, he took a pair of scissors to the fancy papers and cut out the part with the shiny seal on it, then stuffed it in the jar with the rest. When he was done he breathed deeply and held the jar in his hands like it was a priceless artifact. 

He didn't take the jar out back immediately, instead opting to go about the rest of the day normally while it sat on the kitchen table as both ornament and reminder. He filed his report about the work up in Grand Rapids, made some lunch, caught up on what had been going on at the precinct while he'd been gone, and only glanced a few times across the room to the empty spot where Sumo had always sat. For his part, Connor tried to be helpful but not invasive, and it wasn't too hard, caught up in his own head a bit more than usual as well. 

Dinner was quietly awkward without Sumo begging for scraps or waiting patiently to be fed like he had taken to doing in his older age. His bowl still sat in the corner of the kitchen; Connor planned to move it later, probably after Hank was asleep. He didn't want to bring attention to it yet though. Hank wasn't drinking but Connor worried that anything could set him off. Not because he seemed especially tense, but because Connor felt like _ he _ might want to drink, if he were Hank. 

But the rest of the evening passed without incident. They watched TV for a while, then Hank went out into the yard and nestled the mason jar into the head of the grave before coming in and taking a shower. 

Connor sat on the couch, waiting for him to go into the bedroom and close the door (not that there was any point anymore, with no dog to keep off the bed), but Hank paused in the hallway and stared at him for a long moment. 

"Coming to bed?" he asked, and Connor had to turn to see him, to gauge why he was asking. Hank looked a little uncomfortable, but with the day as it had been, it was hard to tell what direction that discomfort faced. 

"I thought you might want some more time alone," he admitted, opting for honesty when he felt a bit out of his emotional depth. 

Something in Hank's expression melted. "No," he said. "Actually I think I'd rather not be alone tonight, y'know?"  
  
“You’re sure?” Connor asked. He didn’t want to pressure Hank one way or the other.  
  
“Yeah,” Hank said, nodding. He tilted his head in the direction of the bedroom, inviting in its cocooning darkness. “Come on.”  
  
Connor spared a glance for Sumo’s bowl; he’d planned on tidying up, but if Hank wanted him near then it could wait. He nodded and stood and, satisfied, Hank led the way to bed. It was neither a playful night, nor an exhausted one; it wasn’t the sort of cheerful night before a well-planned tomorrow; it was somber, and unusually sober, which lent it a heaviness that didn’t often follow them to bed. As soon as they were both laid down, Hank reached out and gently pulled Connor to him, and Connor went, relieved that Hank seemed to read his mind.  
  
“Love you,” Hank murmured in the small space between them, quiet in the silence of the room broken only by the white noise of Connor’s existence.  
  
“Love you too,” Connor returned. He twined his fingers with Hank’s and squeezed lightly, holding on until Hank drifted to sleep.  
  
He thought about going into stasis then. It was what he normally would have done, ‘sleeping’ the first few hours of the night and then slipping silently out of bed when he was done with maintenance and Hank was deep in his own sleep cycle. Sometimes he would return to bed an hour or two later, and stay, just to be there when Hank woke, because finding Connor there always seemed a pleasant surprise, and a calculably better start to a day.  
  
But he didn’t feel like going into stasis tonight. Not just then. Too many quiet little thoughts were streaming through his mind, like raindrops on glass-- slow, fast, tiny and translucent and multitudinous, distorting the view behind them. It was hard to focus on any single one, each just a clear droplet of emotion, or question, or supposition.  
  
He laid there for a few hours, and just thought. Some of the thinking might have better been described as feeling, but even after a few years it wasn’t always intuitive to him, on which side of the line either concept laid.  
  
Sumo was really gone. It was strange, because he was just there. The last time Connor had laid in bed with Hank like this, Sumo had been asleep on the other side of the door. Now he was gone, and he’d never be there again. And the whole house felt so much emptier for his absence.  
  
Connor thought about the future; he imagined it. How every human he knew would face the same fate-- if a violent death didn’t find them first. What about Hank? Too many times already Connor had watched him face down death, down the barrel of a gun or the glint of a knife. Their work was dangerous, and he knew that, and he often thought about how he could lose Hank at any moment if something went wrong on a case, or even if they happened to just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could get hit by a car, or shot in a drive-by. Russia could drop a bomb on them. There were any number of ways Hank could be killed, and very little Connor would be able to do about it.  
  
But even if he didn’t meet an untimely death, there would still be one waiting around the corner, drawing nearer every moment. Since the minute of his birth, every step Hank took brought him closer to an end he just couldn’t avoid. One day, his body would fail him. Maybe it wouldn’t be liver failure, if he listened to Connor’s worries and stopped drinking. Maybe his heart and lungs would stay healthy with exercise. Maybe his memory would keep. Maybe he wouldn’t get sick. But Sumo wasn’t exactly sick either. He was just… old. His body had had enough. Like Hank said, it was natural. Eventually, it happened to every organic being.  
  
Everyone. Including Hank. And no matter how hard they fought, this was not something they could win against. 

One day, Hank's quiet breathing would no longer warm this place, and then what was Connor supposed to do? The idea made a hot shiver run down his spine and all the way up to his eyes, and it _hurt._  
  
He didn’t really notice Hank stirring behind him until he laid a gentle hand on Connor’s arm and cuddled closer, his face close enough to the back of his head to activate the minute little hairs on his neck with his warm breath.  
  
“Hey,” he said quietly. “You alright?”  
  
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He tried to sound nonchalant, to not let too much emotion into his voice, but his deviant body only ever responded to his intentions half the time, and now was not one of them. It betrayed him, deciding to be vulnerable and allow the quiver that shook through his vocal components and all the way down to his toes.  
  
Hank noticed. Of course he noticed. And he wasn’t willing to let Connor play the machine tonight either. “You were crying,” he explained, smoothing his hand up and down Connor’s arm, pulling him just a little closer. “You almost never cry.”  
  
Connor swallowed, trying to rein in the wobbling of his vocal cords. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, but Hank just sighed and held him tight-- close enough it might have been uncomfortable if he really had to breathe.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said, and it was clear that the possible irritation of being woken was the furthest thing from his mind. “You _should _be sad. I mean it’s normal to be sad. Hell, I’ll probably start crying in the middle of work tomorrow. Just, fair warning.”  
  
Connor gave the very smallest puff of laughter-- less from humor than from empathy, a strange human reaction he’d found all too easy to adopt when awkward emotions struck. But a full moment didn’t pass before he decided to admit, “It’s not because of Sumo.”  
  
“It’s not?” Hank asked, but he didn’t sound judgmental or critical of Connor for not mourning their dog well enough.  
  
“I do miss him,” Connor said. “It’s going to be strange not to see him every day. And I hate... that I don’t know where he’s gone. But mostly I… was thinking about you.”  
  
“Ah.” Connor could feel the pull of Hank’s lips into a light grimace, where his cheek lay against the base of Connor’s skull. “Yeah. I get it. Sumo’s the first person you’ve seen die like that, huh? Not _person,_ but, y’know.”  
  
“Yeah,” Connor answered, barely more than a breath.  
  
Hank took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Well, you had to learn about mortality some time,” he said, sounding just shy of regretful, as if he’d hoped maybe Connor really _wouldn’t_ have ever had to think about such a thing.  
  
A little defensive, Connor said, “I _understand mortality.”_  
  
Hank huffed at him, that empathetic dusting of laughter. “I know,” he said, nosing behind Connor’s ear, maybe in apology. “Not many people see death their very first day on Earth. But there’s still a difference. Everything you’ve seen so far has been destruction. Y’know. Sudden; painful. Deaths like that, sometimes they almost don’t seem real.”  
  
Connor knew that what Hank was saying was true. In a background bit of processing, some psychological journals came up, discussing how even highly empathetic humans could stand violent movies and games (even violent crime, even war) without significant distress-- until the victim’s suffering became visible. And suffering was something they rarely saw for long in their cases; if someone was alive, they were carted off to a hospital to live or die away from prying eyes.  
  
“I remember when I realized I was gonna die someday,” Hank said, before Connor could think of a response or mention his research.  
  
“...When was that?” Connor asked, curious, always curious about Hank’s experiences.  
  
Hank laughed slightly, and this time it did seem a touch humorous. “I was four,” he said. “There was… probably something playing on TV, or maybe my parents were talking. I don’t remember. I just remember coloring, in a Muppets coloring book. Kermit the frog. And then I remember realizing it, that one day I wasn’t gonna be around anymore, and the whole world would go on without me.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he laughed again. “Maybe I was a morbid kid.”  
  
Connor bit his lip and frowned. “That’s so young,” he said. He didn’t know all that much about children, but a four year old human was hardly more than a baby. Their cognitive abilities were barely that of a large dog. It was surprising to him that Hank was aware of his own impending death since such a young age, and it hadn’t hampered his ability to live life to its fullest. (No more than circumstances had, at least.)  
  
“Everyone figures it out sometime,” Hank said, shrugging. His slow stroking up and down Connor’s arm stopped, his fingers coming to rest curled around Connor’s own. “But humans get to learn it the easy way. Everything’s easier to learn when you’re a kid. You tell a kid that one day the sun’s gonna explode and destroy the whole earth and it fucks ‘em up for day and a half, but then they get over it. Same way they just get up after they fall off their bike-- they don’t know it’s supposed to be scary.” His other hand came around from under the pillow and gently touched the hidden side of Connor’s face, where his LED was mostly obscured. “You guys got it rough. They gave you most of the adult stuff straight outta the box, but I bet they skipped a lot of the kid stuff. They told you what everything was, but not what it _meant._ Y’know. What it would mean to you.”  
  
Connor took a deep breath he didn’t need, just to hold on to it for a minute. Then he let it go, and took another. He turned in Hank’s arms, so he could see him from one eye. “I know what mortality means to me,” he said, turning into Hank further so he could press their foreheads together. His LED cast a sad blue glow over them.  
  
“Tell me,” Hank said. He wrapped his arm around Connor’s back.

Connor didn’t like crying. It was one human thing he wasn’t keen on emulating. But he wasn’t a machine anymore, so he cried whether he liked it or not. It wasn’t a hearty sob (not yet), but the pressure built up in his face until, unbidden, several heavy tears dripped out over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, making his face feel hot and cold at once.  
  
He blinked his eyes open through the tears, so he could meet Hank’s gentle blue gaze. “It means I miss you already.”  
  
Hank nodded. He knew. He’d known for over fifty years, what it was to fear death-- his own, or someone else’s. And he already knew loss so profoundly that Connor would _ never _ be able to compete. So he said nothing, because he didn’t have to. He just held Connor close and let him cry out the emotion until he was so tired and empty that as he slipped into stasis he almost wondered if his empathy processor had shorted out and left him a machine again.  
  
He still felt drained when he woke-- but he did feel better. Sun was shining in through the cracks in the curtains, quietly heralding a new day. Hank wasn’t in bed with him, but the smell of bacon gave a good hint at where to find him. Throwing on some fresh clothes, Connor went to join him in the kitchen.  
  
“Morning,” Hank said over his shoulder. “Figured I’d let you sleep. Crying hangover’s almost as bad as a drinking one. How’re you feeling?”  
  
“Alright,” Connor said honestly. “A little… empty. I hope I didn’t damage anything last night.”  
  
Hank gave him a soft smirk. “Nah, that’s normal. You might wander around like a zombie for a few days, but you’ll be okay.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Connor said, coming closer to take a deep breath of the bacon-scented air. He didn’t eat, but somewhere along the line he’d taken a liking to the scent of certain foods. He realized he probably only liked bacon because he positively associated it with the pleasure Hank and Sumo seemed to derive from it, but the psychological analysis made it no less pleasant to him.  
  
“Thought I’d make your favorite,” Hank said, bumping his hip against Connor’s when he came close enough. Then he gave him a thinly-veiled mischievous look. “Anyway, I thought our guest might like it too.” Before Connor could do more than frown and raise an eyebrow at him, Hank hummed and said, “She’s in the garage. Wanna go tell her breakfast is ready?”  
  
Connor’s heart thumped hard in his chest, as he wondered how he’d completely failed to recognize another human heat signature in the house. He was used to it being just the two of them (and Sumo), so it wasn’t something he scanned for often-- least of all so early in the morning. He hurried to the door at the end of the hall to go greet the mysterious person, processors calculating at lightspeed as he imagined who Hank would have invited over for breakfast and why on earth she’d be in the garage. Perhaps she was a contractor, doing some repairs?  
  
He froze, half a step from the door, when he heard a distinctly canine whine. Then he wrenched the door open and ran out into the darkness of the garage, where a dog crate sat, draped with a blanket. As if worried what he’d find, Connor removed the blanket slowly, carefully, and his heart leapt when a fluffy little golden puppy gazed up at him and barked. Trembling, he undid the latch on the crate and picked her up out of it, holding her gently as she wagged her tail with every ounce of strength in her body and squirmed in his arms. On legs that felt shakier than they should, he padded back into the house and right up to Hank.  
  
“Why was there a golden retriever puppy in the garage?” he asked, keeping his jaw clenched shut when he was done talking because he thought he might cry again otherwise.  
  
“Well, y’know,” Hank said with a shrug. “They’re cute, kinda goofy dogs. Thought, ‘goofy dog for a goofy android’.”  
  
“You… bought me a dog,” Connor said slowly, staring into the middle of Hank’s back.  
  
Hank grinned. “Yup. We got all this dog stuff, all the food and treats and things, so it just made sense.”  
  
Connor tried to get a hold of his trembling. “You could have donated it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Hank said, but it was obvious he didn’t really think very much of the idea. It was just an excuse anyway, and he wasn’t trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t. “Honestly though, I’ve been talking to the owner for a couple months. Just casually. She still had a few pups, so I got her to bring one by this morning.” Finishing what he was doing at the stove, he set the pan and utensils aside, but only turned halfway to Connor, his look a little nervous. “We can give her back if you don’t want her.”  
  
The thirium seemed to become solid in Connor’s veins; frozen, but hot. “No!” he said, holding the puppy tighter, readjusting her into a more comfortable hold. “I do like her! She’s very cute. I just… Isn’t it rude? To Sumo?”  
  
Hank raised an eyebrow, a look that said he was unconvinced because his experience had taught him better. “You think Sumo would be upset? That he’d want us to just keep being sad, and not give this cute little girl a loving home just like the one he had?”  
  
“Well, no,” Connor said, brow falling low over the edges of his eyes as he even _ tried _ to imagine Sumo being mad at them for _ any _ reason.   
  
Although Hank didn’t say, ‘That’s what I thought,’ Connor could hear him thinking it. His response was more gentle though, as he came near and reached out to rub the puppy’s fluffy head. “Life goes on. There’s always gonna be someone who needs your love.”  
  
The advice was obviously also a self-reminder; Connor could tell from the sad but sweet smile Hank gave him. It spoke volumes of what Connor already knew-- about how badly Cole’s death had affected Hank, how desperately he’d held on to Sumo in the following years, and how Connor had reminded him that all was not lost, even if he’d felt for years that it was. He’d been walking around like a zombie, unsure that living was even worth it anymore.  
  
Connor was unspeakably glad that Hank didn’t feel that way these days. And he appreciated in a quiet way that he didn’t yet have words for that Hank was trying to help Connor overcome that same hurdle.  
  
He looked down at the puppy in his arms. He didn’t know her, but he wanted to. The expression on his face must have said enough, because Hank sighed in relief and wrapped the two of them in a hug. The puppy, of course, squirmed and tried to lick their ears, but it was nice.  
  
“So what’s her name?” Connor asked, a few warm, glowing moments later.  
  
“Whatever you want it to be,” Hank said. “She’s yours.”  
  
Connor hummed, sorting through a names database to see if anything stood out. There were so many, and he didn’t know if he should pick one with some kind of significance, or if maybe he ought to pick one _ without, _ so she could just be who she was without any sort of expectations. “I’ve never named anyone before.”  
  
“It’s no rush,” Hank said, detaching himself so he could snag a piece of bacon and share a little bit with their new housemate, who was all too happy to indulge. “We’ve got plenty of time.” He kissed Connor on the cheek before continuing the rest of his breakfast.  
  
He didn’t know if Hank meant that how Connor thought he might-- a reminder that would probably come again and again in the face of Connor’s new fear. There was no doubt that Hank would stay with him as long as he could; they might have another twenty, forty, fifty years together. And maybe one day Connor would find that acceptance of death like Hank did, and he would be able to move on when the time came, and wisely spend his love where it was needed. For now, the mere thought still made his chest tighten up painfully and his face go hot with the threat of tears. But knowing that it was okay, that it was something Hank faced too, made it a bit more bearable.  
  
The squirming ball of fluff helped. It was hard to dwell too much on death when you held so much life in your arms (and when you had to constantly fight to keep it from licking the inside of your mouth when you laughed).  
  
Tomorrow, Connor decided, he would do his best to internalize Hank’s advice. He didn’t want to ruin the years they had left by worrying about the looming, inevitable end. He wanted Hank to live life with as much happiness as he could, so it was only fair that Connor tried to do the same.  
  
But today, there was a new puppy for them to play with together. And that was more than enough. 


End file.
